


Fold

by writergirl8



Series: Stydia-fanfiction prompts [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fold: To lower your hand. To give up. To discard your cards and lay them on the table because you are no longer playing the round. </p><p>---</p><p>The pack plays strip poker. </p><p>(In hindsight, Lydia doesn't know why she thought this would end well.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fold

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everybody! This is a Stydia-fanfiction prompt that I am really excited to post. I had so much fun writing it. Like... way too much fun. 
> 
> Here's the prompt: The pack plays a harmless game of strip poker which turns into strip truth or dare. Wild, sexy Stydia occurs.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy the filth and I hope you'll leave me a comment to let me know what you think <3 It would mean a lot to me!

They do it to distract Scott. 

 

There isn’t a secret second motive, really. It’s Scott’s first Christmas as a single person since he was a sophomore, and Lydia and Stiles are both painfully aware of that. Lately, they’ve been working hard to distract him, and despite the fact that all three of them are single, they know that Scott has it the worst. Lydia and Stiles, for all they know, are missing out on nothing. Scott, however? Scott has somebody in this world who loves him, and he can’t be with her. 

 

As far as Lydia’s concerned, that’s a million times worse than her possibly unrequited pining for Stiles Stilinski. 

 

So on December the twenty-sixth, they all pile into two cars and zoom up to Lydia’s lake house. It’s got heat for the winter, and she has no trouble getting permission from her mother to stay there for the rest of vacation. After the whole Eichen thing, Lydia doesn’t usually hear “no” from her mom. 

 

Isaac is visiting for Christmas. Lydia is glad to have him seated next to her on the floor of the living room, bundled up in the hoodie from his new high school, his legs crossed underneath him as he stares down at the cards that are fanned out neatly in his hands. Somehow, Isaac always manages to make her and Scott both feel better, despite the fact that Stiles hates him. 

 

“So,” Lydia says, shuffling the cards once, twice, in a way that makes Scott raise his eyebrows with amusement. “Five card draw. Socks are worth one unit, jewelry doesn’t count, outerwear is worth two units— cardigans, hoodies, et cetera. Shirts and pants are worth three units. Nobody’s taking off their underwear. Because, well…” She looks over at Liam, Mason, and Hayden. “No. Just no.”

 

Liam looks disappointed, but Hayden just shrugs. 

 

“Where’d you learn to shuffle like that?” Stiles interjects from across the circle. Lydia looks up to glare at him. “Have you ever been in the employ of a casino?” he continues suspiciously. 

 

“Right, that seems likely,” Isaac deadpans. 

 

“If you run out of clothes, we start playing truth or dare,” finishes Lydia. 

 

“The guys are going to run out of clothes before the girls do,” Liam protests, his cheeks slightly flushed.

 

Stiles looks over at Malia. 

 

“Hey, can I borrow a bra?”

 

She ignores him in favor of looking at the cards that Lydia has dealt her, which is honestly the most common approach to dealing with Stiles speaking. 

 

Lydia’s wearing tights, and they’re the first article of clothing she has to let go of when Scott sweeps in his winnings from the first round, also gaining Stiles’ socks and Isaac’s hoodie. Luckily, the wolves are always warmer than normal people, but Isaac takes a delicate sip of wine to add warmth, smiling to himself when Lydia pointedly rolls her eyes at how pretentious he looks with a wine glass, never mind the fact that she’s drinking wine too. Somehow, it looks funnier on Isaac. 

 

The next round, Lydia’s the winner, claiming ownership to Liam’s pants (stupid bet, really) Malia’s shirt (another stupid bet, but she doesn’t seem to be very bothered by it) and Mason’s hat (which she’s pretty sure he’d put on specifically for the game because he doesn’t wear hats very often.)

 

Naturally, Stiles decides that he’s going to angrily throw his flannel in her direction, and because the universe hates her, it lands on her head, mussing up her hair. Lydia blinks in surprise under the warm material where nobody can see her, and for a moment, she’s too stunned by the scent to move. It smells like that too-much-detergent scent that she has come to associate with Stiles, along with his deodorant, and she finds herself wondering if there’s any way she’s ever going to be able to fall asleep wrapped up in his clothes like this. 

 

Which is ridiculous. 

 

And makes her want to hide under here for even longer, just for pure shame. 

 

Isaac plucks the flannel off of her head, looking at her oddly. 

 

“Really?” Lydia says to Stiles, scrambling for some sort of excuse. “You  _ really  _ felt the need to do that?”

 

He shrugs guiltily. 

 

“To be fair, my aim’s usually not that good.” 

 

“He’s got a point,” Scott admits. 

 

“From now on, you will  _ hand  _ people your clothes.”    
  
“That wasn’t in the rules,” grumbles Stiles, taking a sip of his hard lemonade to punctuate his annoyance. 

 

Whatever. Lydia’s annoyed too. She’s annoyed that he hasn’t been picking up on her hints since she’d started dropping them after Eichen. She’s annoyed that  _ she _ hasn’t been brave enough to just come outright and ask him if he loves her too. She’s annoyed that she cares about him so much that she would be unhappy just to ensure that she doesn’t risk losing his friendship altogether. Because she already did that, and it was miserable, and she doesn’t want to have to go through it again. 

 

She can live her life without Stiles in it. But she doesn’t want to have to. 

 

Which is  _ definitely _ not what she’s thinking about when she meets Stiles’ eyes and hands her shirt off to him, bending forward too far to reach him across the circle. 

 

To be very fair, Lydia is one of the last of them to be so covered. Liam’s been in his boxers for a while, taking dares now. Isaac is down to a wife beater and boxer-briefs that look hilariously similar to Scott’s, although Lydia knows that from a different occasion (involving scary death defying circumstances that she would rather not think about) because he is currently shirtless with his pants off, trying not to laugh at the look on Stiles’ face as he reaches out for Lydia’s shirt. 

 

It’s not like she doesn’t still have a high waisted skirt on, but she hadn’t actually thought ahead of time about how it would feel to literally be  _ handing _ Stiles her shirt. She’s wearing a light pink bra with lacy black scalloping and the fact that it’s the first time Stiles has seen her in a bra is not escaping her notice. 

 

It’s also pretty difficult to pretend that this is not the thing that is making Lydia’s heart beat far too fast in her chest as she makes eye contact with Stiles, whose fingers are wrapping delicately around her shirt. 

 

He’s in the same situation as Scott— red jeans on, shirt off— and she’s been trying to keep her eyes away from his torso ever since he had sheepishly pulled his grey t-shirt over the back of his head and given it to a smirking Mason as he won the round. 

 

There’s a long moment of silence that Lydia only becomes aware of when she realizes that neither she nor Stiles have dropped each other’s gazes. Abruptly, she plops back into her seated position and pretends not to notice Stiles’ eyes widening slightly as her breasts bounce in her bra at the abrupt movement. Scott is looking back and forth between the two of them, very concerned. Mason looks extremely interested, Liam and Hayden are oblivious, and both Malia and Isaac seem equal measures of disinterested in the interaction. 

 

She wonders if she’s the only one who feels like this is awkward. 

 

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” she says to Isaac. “Can you deal?”

 

“With you being gone for three minutes? Yeah, I think I’ll be okay.”    
  
Lydia narrows her eyes. “No. Can you deal the  _ deck _ ,” she says slowly. 

 

“Right, I can do that too,” he confirms, nodding. 

 

Lydia gets up and walks over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind herself, then letting her breath carefully, quietly blow out. She leans against the wall and fists her hands in the bottom of her skirt, trying not to think about taking it off and being in her underwear. 

  
It’s  _ humiliating _ , is what it is, because she’s horrifyingly attracted to this lanky, graceless asshole who had invaded her head and invaded her life and she’s so mad about it. For some stupid reason, she’s worried about whether or not he’s attracted to her too. 

 

She wonders if he’s ever seen the scar at the side of her body from the night that Peter Hale had bitten her. She wonders if he’d be disgusted if he saw it— Stiles has never been good at the whole ‘bodily injuries’ thing. 

 

It doesn’t matter anyways, because he isn’t her boyfriend. He’s just her friend. Her friend, who she has been driving to school with every day, who always picks her up coffee in the morning, who has nearly kissed her a total of  _ three  _ times since Eichen, but also maybe he hadn’t and he’d actually just been reaching for the transponder because he forgot that there weren’t any tolls in Beacon Hills, like he said?

 

Inwardly groaning at the idea of having to go back out there— and cursing the Lydia from an hour ago who had agreed to all of this— Lydia walks towards the bathroom door and finds Stiles leaning against the wall outside, waiting for her. 

 

“This isn’t creepy at all,” she states, causing him to startle upright. 

 

“Sorry,” he says. She crosses her arms in defense. “I just wanted to… um… say that I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable, at all? Like, I didn’t mean to stare at— okay, I’m sorry, but are you crossing your arms on purpose? Is this happening on purpose?” 

 

She looks down at the ample cleavage that is on display and drops her arms immediately. Stiles’ torso doesn’t untense. 

 

“You were apologizing,” she coaxes. 

  
“Yeah,” he says. “For staring. And then I stared more while apologizing, so clearly I’m complete shit at this, but I’m hoping that the sentiment will come across. Fuck, sorry.” 

 

Her eyes have drifted down and are on the front of his pants, which are slightly tented as he looks at her. Lydia looks slowly back up, unable to fight a light smirk from crossing her lips. Because she’s just remembered— she is  _ Lydia Martin _ . She used to walk down the hallway and actually pay attention to the boys who checked her out, the ones who could never have her. She used to bask in the way guys would trace her body with their eyes, instead of being afraid that they would see through her tissue-thin construction. And, above all, she’d had  _ Stiles’  _ eyes on her that whole time. 

 

She is Lydia Martin, and she isn’t shy about any damn thing. 

 

“Apology accepted,” she says, clipped. “And,” her eyes flick down to his jeans, “thanks for the compliment.” 

 

The next round, she bets her skirt in spite of the fact that she should fold, and stands up to pointedly wiggle out of it before handing it off to Scott. 

 

Stiles’ Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he valiantly attempts to avoid looking at her, unable to tame the redness in his cheeks. 

 

He takes a dare from Malia instead of taking his pants off, which makes Scott snort into his hands, ineffectively turning it into a cough. Stiles stares at Malia, aghast, when she forces him to stand up and dance to a pop song, but she just shrugs in an ‘I didn’t make the rules way.’ Still glaring, Stiles turns on the first pop song on his iPod and starts dancing horribly to it. Which is amusing right up to the body rolls.

 

Then it’s just not  _ fair.  _

 

Liam’s dare is sucking on Hayden’s fingers. Hayden looks almost as displeased as Stiles did at his dare, but there’s laughter around the circle that makes all of them sink into it more. Mason has to brush his teeth hopping up and down, Scott gets dared to put on eyeliner— which, by the way, he rocks— and Isaac has to do a shot off of Malia’s stomach. 

 

Between the alcohol and the laughter, Lydia is pretty damn comfortable by the time Mason dares her and Stiles to kiss.  

 

At first, it doesn’t even register in her head. Then she sees the ‘oh shit’ look on Scott’s face, and when she looks over at Stiles, his laughter is melting into a look of shock. 

 

“Um,” she says slowly, because she’s only slightly tipsy and she’s definitely not tipsy enough to kiss Stiles in front of a circle of their best friends, one of whom includes his ex girlfriend and one of her close friends. 

 

“Come on,” Mason says chirpily. “You said dare. That’s your dare.”   
  
Stiles’ eyes have left Lydia’s face almost on their own accord and have drifted down to her lips, where they remain, simply staring at her. She watches as his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip and trace it, leaving his lips parted when he’s done. 

 

“No.” Scott’s voice cuts through the tension in the room. Stiles eyes snap up from Lydia’s lips, startled. She doesn’t stop looking at him as Scott continues to speak. “It’s getting late, we should probably go to bed.” 

 

Stiles is looking at Scott with narrowed eyes, his head tilted to the side, his brows furrowed. 

 

“It’s just a dare,” Hayden points out, annoyed. “I had to eat an anchovy.” 

 

“No,” Scott says again, shaking his head. “Not this, okay?” He gets up and leaves the circle, scooping up his clothes. “Goodnight.” 

 

Isaac is frowning, watching Scott go.    
  
“Um, okay,” he says abruptly. “Goodnight, I guess?”

 

He nabs the wine bottle before he leaves the room. 

 

The spell now broken, Mason, Liam, and Hayden are gathering their clothes up too, heading to the stairs of the house. Malia stretches languidly before bouncing to her feet, ignoring her clothes in favor of heading out the door in her bra and underwear and loping out across the expansive lawn towards the lake. 

 

Stiles and Lydia sit in the center of the living room, both slightly shell-shocked, neither sure what to do. 

 

“We should clean up,” she points out, looking at the mess of bottles around the room. 

 

“Right,” he agrees quickly, standing up way too fast. “I’ll go grab the trash bag.” 

 

He comes back and begins helping her clear up bottles, hands knocking into hers occasionally as they go around the room, clearing it up.

  
She thinks he still seems a little off and shaky, and he keeps stealing glances at her. The furtive looks in her direction is what finally makes Lydia sigh and say, “I’m sorry too, I guess.”    
  
“About what?”

  
“About…” She exhales, suddenly tired. “I don’t know, Stiles. I just am.”    
  
He nods too hard, head ducking low. 

 

“Right. Okay.” 

 

He hits his foot against a bottle, swears loudly, and drops the trash bag. Lydia watches as the bottles roll across the floor and Stiles swears again, bending low to begin scooping them up. 

 

“Would you have kissed me tonight? If Scott hadn’t interrupted the game?”

 

Stiles stops swearing and straightens up instantly, blinking in her direction, looking like he’s slightly dazed. 

 

“What did you just say?”

 

She’s about to ask the same question, but then she thinks about it and shakes her head, clearing her mind. 

 

“I mean—” Her voice gets lower. More sultry. She hasn’t heard herself talk like this in a while and she is suddenly aware of the fact that she is still standing in a bra and panties as she takes two steps closer to him. “Did you want to kiss me tonight, Stiles?”

 

His mouth is popped open, still looking bewildered as she tilts her head to the side and waits patiently, hands clasped neatly in front of herself. 

 

“I… what do you… umm…?”

 

“Oh, come on Stiles,” she says, lifting one eyebrow. “It’s not  _ that _ hard, is it?” Her eyes drift lower. He swallows. 

 

“Jesus Christ.”   
  
“Nope, just me.” 

 

“Of fucking course I would have kissed you, Lydia,” he says impatiently. “There is no version of this universe in which there is any moment in my lifetime that I don’t want to kiss you.” 

 

His face is twisted in annoyance as he stares down at her, and he’s punching his fist against his palm agitatedly. But the eyes that look at her are desperate and slightly weak, as if he’s afraid that he’s made himself too vulnerable to her. Or maybe he’s afraid of never being able to escape the wanting. Which Lydia understand. She gets it, because she wants him too.

 

Lydia walks close to him, peering curiously up at him as he stares down at her in her underwear. When he doesn’t back away, she slowly slides her hands up his chest, the right one higher than the left so that she can more quickly wrap it around the back of his neck and tug him down to her. For a moment, their lips touch but they don’t kiss, and it’s like they’re just breathing together, sharing the moment. Then he nudges that extra inch towards her, and Lydia whimpers, kissing him back fervently as he begins to kiss her in earnest. 

 

His hands slide around her waist and then drift lower to her ass, pulling her flat against his body. It is fast and hot and he tastes like hard lemonade and he is breathing too shakily as he pulls back and stares at her, brushing her hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ears. 

 

She can’t bear to be standing so close to him and not be kissing him, so she leans up on her tiptoes and presses kisses against his jaw until he shakes his head, bringing his hand up to her chin to steer her back to his mouth. Lydia kisses him greedily as he starts to back up towards the couch, pressing a hand against the bare skin at the small of her back to make her follow. 

 

He sits down and she climbs into his lap, immediately going back to his mouth, suddenly unable to get enough of it after all this time of wanting him. He grunts low in his chest as she begins shifting her body over his, the scrap of underwear separating the two of them rubbing against her wet skin. 

 

Stiles’ hands slide up to her breasts, covering them for a moment, so warm and big against her that she can’t help but whine at the realization of how right it feels. She feels a fever coursing through her as he shifts his hips up into hers, causing her to rut more vigorously against him as she kissing him. 

 

“Mmm, Stiles,” she whispers. “Give me a dare.” 

 

The corners of his mouth quirk down as he smiles at her in disbelief. 

 

“You didn’t have enough of that earlier?” he asks huskily. Lydia bites her bottom lip, shaking her head, and his lids hood slightly before he ducks forward to tug her bottom lip out from between her teeth and suck it into his mouth, soothing it tongue over it. 

 

“Well, maybe not from  _ you _ ,” she says coyly, leaning forward and latching onto his earlobe, sucking slightly before she whispers, “Come on, Stilinski. Dare me?”

 

He thinks for a moment. 

  
“I dare you to be quiet,” he settles on. 

 

“Oh, that’s awfully cocky,” teases Lydia, then squeezes her eyes shut as he pushes his fingers underneath the material of her panties and tucks them shallowly inside of her. 

 

“Is it, though?” he asks rhetorically. Annoyed, she tries to get his fingers deeper into her, but he doesn’t take the bait at all, instead putting them in his mouth and sucking. 

 

“M’kay,” she says impatiently, crawling off of his lap and sliding to the floor, fingers going to the button on his jeans and impatiently undoing it. He raises his hips to help her slide his pants off, sucking on his bottom lip in awe as she peels away his underwear with nimble fingers and wraps her mouth abruptly around his dick. 

 

The sound that he lets out makes her clench her thighs together, her heart beating a little faster in her chest. It’s loud and abandoned and wild in a way that Lydia wishes she knew how to be. She sucks harder, her cheeks hollowed, her left hand curled on his thigh as the right hand pumps what she won’t take into her mouth. Lydia looks up to see him staring down at her with flushed cheeks and blown pupils, his hand reaching down to brush some hair that is tangling up in her eyelashes.

 

God, he looks gorgeous. 

 

She knows he’s been half hard all night, so she’s not really surprised when he comes quickly, hips jerking up just a bit too much, surprising her. 

 

“Fuck,  _ sorry _ ,” he says hoarsely, sliding onto the floor with her and kissing her. “That was just—”    
  
“Stop apologizing,” she admonishes, pulling him backwards so that he settles down on top of her. He kicks off his jeans and underwear all the way, panting into the column of her throat and pressing kisses there. He’s still hard, and normally she’d just have him use his fingers on her, but he’s  _ right there _ and she knows there are condoms in the bottom drawer of the dresser from the time she took one of her one night stands up here, so she rolls onto her stomach and lets Stiles move her hair over one shoulder and press kisses against her shoulders as she reaches to grab one. 

 

She snatches it up just in time for him to unbuckle the clasp of her bra before she rolls over again, thumb rubbing across his cheek as she kisses him and lets him strip her out of it, throwing it across the room. 

 

“Not that I want to get in my own way at  _ all _ ,” he says against her lips. “But, uh, do you think somebody’s gonna come downstairs?”

 

Lydia bites her bottom lip, tasting him on it.  

 

“I think they probably know what’s going on down here and we’re going to be in  _ so  _ much trouble tomorrow,” she admits. “But maybe just… be fast?”

 

He rolls his eyes. 

 

“Like that’ll be a problem. Have you seen yourself?”

 

A strange feeling squeezes at her heart. 

  
“Not so much lately.”

 

A strange look crosses his face. She doesn’t allow him much more time for sentiment, instead pushing aside the crotch of her panties and taking him inside of her quickly. 

 

“Oh,” he murmurs, tucking his face into her neck. “Okay.”

 

Lydia laughs breathily as he moves in and out of her, setting a pace that’s too slow for the amount of dizzy she’s feeling. She wraps her legs around him and digs meaningfully into the top of his ass, the look on her face pointed. 

 

“Oh, that’s good,” she says shakily as he goes deeper inside of her. “Keep doing that Stiles.” 

 

He’s shaking slightly, and she’s not sure if it’s from nerves or effort, but either way she feels something quiet and soft and grateful steal over her as he fucks her. Somehow, she’s so relieved that they’re not pretending to be anything they’re not. That he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

 

Then she closes her eyes and lets the burn take over, the one she’s feeling in two different places in her body, the one that builds into an inferno of the physical and the emotional meeting until he’s panting into her skin and her head is tilting backwards on the carpet, chest arching towards him as her fingers still their movements on her nipples. 

 

Stiles ends up on the floor next to her. She finds herself missing him when he’s lying next to her, his fingers loosely entangled in hers, his breaths coming out too harshly.

 

It’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough. 

 

But trying to fill that gap between the two of them is  _ just  _ enough. 

 

“You’re sleeping in my room tonight, right?” 

 

It’s not the question she wants to ask. But it’s what she’s saying tonight. She’ll ask the real questions tomorrow. 

 

“‘Course,” he responds easily. 

 

She has a feeling she’ll like the answers. 


End file.
